McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [154]
The dog. Where was the dog? Holt whistled through his teeth.
Sorrowful began to bark, tentatively at first, then with rising excitement.
The noise rose through the floorboards, from the root cellar.
Holt dashed out the back way, rounded the house, and holstered his gun so he could use both hands to raise the cellar doors. The moment he’d laid them aside, Sorrowful leaped out at him, covered in cobwebs.
“Anybody down there?” Frank rasped. He didn’t care much for holes in the ground. In the meantime, Holt bolted down the three rickety steps, into the dank gloom.
There was a squall, and as his eyes adjusted, Holt made out Melina, huddled in a corner, with a gag over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and frightened. Gabe pushed past him to release her.
Holt was almost afraid to look for the others. He made himself do it.
John, watching him with furious intensity. Heddy beside him. Both of them bound and gagged.
Frank rushed to turn them loose.
Rafe lay in the far corner, sprawled behind some dusty crates.
“They hit him in the head, Holt,” John said hastily, the moment his mouth was uncovered. “He put up a hell of a fight, for a man with one arm in a sling.”
Holt dropped to his knees beside his brother. Hesitated, then reached out to touch the base of Rafe’s throat. There was a pulse.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, there was a pulse.
“Rafe?” he repeated, almost strangling on the name.
Rafe stirred, opened one eye, then the other. A grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “You sure took your sweet time getting here,” he said.
It was the second time that day that Holt had felt the whole world grind to a sudden stop—the first had been when he went to the Fellows’ house, after learning that the judge was dead, looking for Lorelei, and found her with Templeton, the barrel of a gun pressed to her throat, cocked and ready to fire.
Now, here was Rafe, spread out on the cellar floor, with a goose-egg the size of a spittoon sprouting on the side of his head.
Holt doubled over, his arms clasped across his middle.
“Kahill took Tillie and Pearl,” Heddy blurted, like somebody just coming to the surface after a long time under water.
John was already scrambling up the cellar steps.
Holt got to his feet, hauling Rafe with him.
“Somebody saddle my horse,” Rafe said, blinking when they stepped into the sunlight.
“The hell,” Holt bit out. “You’re staying here with Melina and Heddy and the baby.”
Rafe swayed on his feet, put both hands to his head.
Holt steered him toward Heddy, who was rallying fast. “Look after my lunkhead of a brother,” he said. “If he tries to come after us, hit him with whatever’s handy.”
Heddy nodded soberly.
Gabe stood in the grass, holding his infant son, while Melina leaned against his side. Frank took her arm, led her gently into the house. Rafe followed under his own power, staggering a little.
Holt wanted to ride, but he waited, watching Gabe. Envying him a little.
“My boy. He’s something, isn’t he?” Gabe marveled hoarsely. Then, without waiting for an answer, he carried the child inside. Returned a moment later, with his arms empty and his eyes full.
At that instant, John burst out of the barn, mounted on Melina’s spotted pony, just as the Captain arrived with seven of the wranglers.
Holt and Frank ran for their horses.
CHAPTER 38
SEESAW WAS STILL tethered to the front fence. Lorelei waited until the undertaker arrived, with two assistants, causing enough of a stir to distract Angelina, and made a run for it.
Angelina was quicker than Lorelei expected, and dashed into the street, shouting for her to come back.
She gave Seesaw her heels and headed for the Templeton ranch.
The ride was long, but the mule never slowed, never stumbled, the whole rough way. Lorelei listened for gunshots with her whole being as she rounded the last bend, praying she wasn’t too late. There had been two deaths already that day, her father’s and Mr. Templeton’s. She was determined that there would be no more.
Oaks and maples lined the driveway leading up to Templeton’s fine, rustic house. Lorelei thought